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I get why they’re all pissed. It doesn’t matter that I slept better next to Rylan than I would’ve listening to Hunter’s snoring all night. That I’m well-rested and raring to go. That I’m ready to play—to win.
Most of them don’t know Rylan’s my girlfriend. Many of them won’t care. Hart didn’t bring Harlow along. We’re supposed to be focused, not flirting.
Last night, I snuck out like a high schooler disobeying curfewto fool around with our coach’s daughter. And then they all got pulled out of bed early to look for me.
I’d think I’m selfish and stupid too.
Coach is visibly incensed when he climbs on board and starts calling out names. I feel the ripple of anxiety through the whole team, hearing the steel in his tone. He’s clear-headed and even-tempered most of the time. I’ve seen him in a better mood after bad losses than he looks right now.
I take a seat and pull on my headphones.
I can’t do a damn thing about last night. All I can do is play the best hockey game of my life.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
RYLAN
My nails are biting into my palms so hard I’m worried I’ll draw blood.
Forty minutes of play, and the game is scoreless. Tied at zero.
There have been plenty of chances. Penalties. Close calls.
No goals.
I’m a ball of anxiety, my entire body vibrating despite the numbness of sitting in the same spot on hard plastic for two periods. My muscles are clenched so tightly they’re trembling.
If they lose…
Even my usually upbeat mom is stressed, picking at a stray thread on her jacket as we watch the players return to the rink for the third period. For the final period. Holt’s faces are severe and stressed as they step on the ice and skate by, heading toward their bench.
“It’s not over yet,” my mom murmurs, almost to herself.
No, it’s not over.
But it’s not looking good either, and I feel partially responsible.
I could have told Aidan to leave last night. I could have set analarm or woken him up sooner. I could have told my dad how I felt about Aidan sooner. I could have lied to my dad in that hallway, so at least he didn’t find out I was sleeping with one of his players right before the game.
I did none of that.
And now, they might lose.
Maybe they would have lost anyway. Maybe a victory today wasn’t meant to be. The worst part of sports, in my opinion? Someone always has to lose. Someone will lose, when the twenty minutes on the clock tick down to nothing. Championship games can’t end in a tie. There has to be a winner, which means there must be a loser.
“There’s still twenty minutes,” I say. “Plenty of time.”
My mom glances at me, her expression a mixture of concern and uncertainty.
My dad told her what happened. Who was in my room last night.
My mom’s never managed to surprise my dad because they don’t keep secrets from each other. They’re honest about the hard stuff along with the easy things. I remember too much of those two hospital visits. But what stands out most vividly is how I felt safe, not just sad, watching my mom cry into my dad’s shoulder after each miscarriage. I knew that they really loved each other, that they were there for each other. It was a standard to strive for, one I feel like I’ve finally found.
I glance over, catching the crease on her forehead before she quickly smooths it out. The only thing worse than watching Holt miss opportunity after opportunity is doing so with my mom’s troubled gaze on me, worried about what I’m doing.
She hasn’t asked yet, but I know she will eventually.
Since the officials are having some discussion and the third period hasn’t started yet, I decide to get it over with.
